


Nothing

by Desdimonda



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One-Shot, Pre-Overwatch dissolve, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 08:56:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6976438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdimonda/pseuds/Desdimonda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the investigation into Overwatch fully under way, some UN agents come to take away Angela's work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing

“No!” cried Mercy, stepping in the way of the suited man as he forced open the drawer of her desk. “That is _private_.”

“We have our orders, Dr Ziegler,” he said as he began to pull out the contents of the drawer and splay them across her desk. “Sorry.”

She watched as he rifled through pages of letters, of printed out emails, of photos of her with members of Overwatch, many with _Genji_ , and at the bottom sat Genji’s file. Her heart thumped against her chest, it pounded in her throat, the noise, deafening. 

“You’re not sorry,” she hissed at the agent as he picked up an intimate photo of her and Genji, unmasked, sharing a kiss beneath some mistletoe at Christmas. She tried to keep her face impassive as he looked between her and the photo, a wry smirk on his thin lips.

“Always this cosy with your patients, doc?” he asked as he made to put the picture in a box the other agents were filling with documents, with files, with anything they could find on her work, or her life, while at Overwatch.

Mercy reached out and tried to snatch back the photo from his hand. But he was too quick, and pulled it from her reach. 

But Mercy didn’t relent.

She stepped forward, tried to grab his arm with the picture, her hold, a vice. With each movement, her body shook. They were taking everything away; her work, her life, her memories.

“Dr Ziegler-”

“That - that _isn’t yours_ ,” she said, feeling the sting of tears, bitter, on her eyes. 

She didn’t give up, so he quelled her pursuit. Roughly, with his hand, he pried her off, pushed her back, and watched her back collide with the filing cabinet, already emptied by their hand.

“Don’t make me arrest you, Dr Ziegler,” he warned, as he handed the contents of her drawer to his colleague. “I’m just here doing my job.”

“ _Fick dich_ ,” she swore as she stepped away from the cabinet, and sank onto the floor, placing her head in her hands. 

The collision had caught the edge of her bare arm, and a red welt was beginning to show. She barely noticed the pain. She only felt the tears well behind her eyes.

She only heard their voices as they discussed where next to look, to search through, what to do take.

She only felt them walk past, boxes in hands - her life, in their hands.

And then, she was alone, surrounded by empty drawers, empty files, an empty, life.

“Angela?”

Empty, apart from him.

“ _Angela_ \- what -” his words were soft, but fraught with concern as she felt him kneel before her, cold metal fingers prying apart her arms; arms that covered her face, wet with tears.

She looked up, his face obscured by the haze of tears. But there was no helm, there was no green glow that hid his eyes.

She, smiled.

“They took everything. Files, letters, hard drives.” She paused, taking a cold metal hand as he sank next to her on the floor, the hiss of his hydraulics breaking the bitter void of silence; of nothing. “Even my photos. He - he had the one of us at last Christmas. I tried to take it back - I -”

Her words were extinguished by her sobs, by her tears as they fell freely from her eyes. 

She was so angry; angry at what they had done; angry that her life, her values were being questioned; angry that she couldn’t stop crying.

Because she had to be strong - she was _Dr Angela Ziegler_.

And she had to be strong, for him.

But now - but now - he was strong, for _her._

Wordless, he embraced her, arms sliding against her bare skin; hands winding around her neck, through her hair that was askew, un-brushed. 

“They made me feel like a criminal,” she said, burying her head into the synthetic muscles of his neck, drawing in the scent of his body; of the metal; of the wires; of the oil. Her blunt nails scratched against his back.

“You know that we will all stand at your side,” he said, the words a whisper against her ear as his lips sought the edge of her cheek. “You have done nothing wrong, but everything, right.”

At his words, she breathed a sigh, her warm breath gliding against his jaw as she pulled her head back; she needed to see his face. A face that had changed her career, her life, her _heart_.

Oh she wished he could see the same when he looked in the mirror.

“Thank you,” she said, quietly. Did she deserve his kindness? Did she deserve his, love?

Genji shook his head. “Even when I had nothing,” he said, tilting forward his head, metal to flesh. “I had you.” 

Mercy closed her eyes, tears falling down her stained cheeks.

“Let me try and repay you,” he said, wiping away her tears with a thumb. 

She opened her eyes. “You already have.”


End file.
